Symptoms of a Crush
by FairytalesOfForever
Summary: "Life, thus far, had worked just fine for Fiyero as long as he ignored the fact that it was happening. He was the center of his own, contented little bubble, around which the rest of the world revolved. But all of that changed when a book, smacked against his bubble by bright green hands, made it pop." Fiyeraba.
1. Falling

**A/N: Okay, so I was planning to do some Elphie/Nessa sister bonding next, but it seems like Fiyeraba is what people want to read, and I can't write one-shots forever (as much as I'd like to). So here's my first Wicked multi-chap. It's still more like a collection of one-shots than a cohesive story, but I didn't really have any ideas for a plot, and capturing moments is easier. At any rate, enjoy!**

"Maybe the driver saw green and thought it meant 'go'."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Fiyero cursed himself. It was a dumb joke, one she'd probably heard a hundred times in different forms, and yet it was one he couldn't resist. He found himself enjoying the outrage on her face, the triumph of knowing he'd pushed the right button; it faded, however, as soon as she stormed away. He was thinking of going after her when a soft, perfumed hand found his arm. He turned around.

Ah, yes. There she was. _That_ girl. The one that the others followed unquestionably, the one who, by decree of the pecking order, automatically laid claim to him. Blue eyes, blonde hair, rosy cheeks, the whole package. Every school had one. After his meeting with the green girl, he'd forgotten about his goal of finding her, but this one might have set a speed record.

He watched her giggle at his every comment with the usual mild interest, admiring the way her pristine uniform slid over her delicate figure. Sure, she was pretty; she fit the routine. New school, new girl. It was unspoken, but they were reserved for each other. And yet, despite the almost hilarious blatancy of her advances, he didn't find her as interesting as he normally would.

oo00oo

Fiyero wondered absently if he was nocturnal. It would, at least, be a good excuse for sleeping in class. He, as a Vinkun prince, was somewhat of a foreigner, and the odds were good that the people at Shiz would fall for it.

If they could think that _she_ was ugly, that she was wicked, then they would fall for anything.

Despite the fact that he had convinced himself and everyone else that he was stupid, Fiyero found himself astounded by the sheer lack of thought among the students at Shiz. How did they not notice the way her mind raced, the way she thought so quickly that it was almost visible in her eyes? For that matter, how did they not notice her eyes—the deep, rich brown of fertile soil, with flecks that glittered silver in the sun? Even if all they saw her for was her skin, how did they not see its rare beauty? They only saw different, and apparently, that was enough.

Why he was so frustrated with them, he wasn't sure. Life, thus far, had worked just fine for him as long as he ignored the fact that it was happening. He was the center of his own, contented little bubble, around which the rest of the world revolved. The occasional person pressed themselves close to its walls, or waved from the outside, earning themselves a passing glance. But all of that changed when a book, smacked against his bubble by bright green hands, made it pop.

"Are you planning to attend our next class, or does your 'skimming the surface' philosophy involve avoiding any and all knowledge as well as your problems?"

Fiyero looked up and realized that the classroom was empty, aside from him and the owner of the irritable voice beside him. She had her arms crossed over her chest, annoyance written in the lines of her face, and she looked slightly uncomfortable in whatever Galinda had forced her to wear today. At least she was no longer putting on the ditzy act as well, though Galinda's pink flower was still pinned resolutely in her hair.

He looked up at her and smirked carelessly. "Nah, I'll be there, just in case there's anything important I need to hear. Or maybe just to get you off my back. Besides, I thought you were convinced that I don't really believe in that philosophy?"

"I am," she said, swiping loose hair away from her face with an annoyed huff. The flower was hardly adequate to hold it in place, and yet (he would bet money that Galinda was insisting on it) it remained. "But you're just as stubborn in refusing to admit it."

Fiyero was half-listening, admiring the way her hair, now loose, flowed down her back like a waterfall of wet ink, and the subtle change in the emerald shade of her skin when the light hit her hand. "You go on ahead," he said lazily. "I'll catch up."

"You will do no such thing," she snapped. "I'm not letting you skip. Now come on."

Fiyero couldn't help but notice the way she instinctively reached for his wrist to pull him after her, then jerked her hand back, crossing her arms instead.

"Besides," she said, a smirk creeping onto her face, "your princess is waiting for her Prince Fifi. She won't shut up about you, you know."

_Not even when she's with me. _

But he enjoyed that, right? Galinda was his type of girl. She was the pretty one, the social butterfly, the type for a shallow, all-fun relationship. He had known plenty of girls like her. They were always the boldest in their approach, the girls who giggled at every remotely funny thing he said, the girls who draped themselves all over him like a new suit. He was fine with that. They were nice to look at and fun to be with. But maybe he'd gone for the shallow, social types because he had never known the power of one who prefers to be alone—and the depths of the mind beneath.

Maybe he'd only chased after the pretty girls because he hadn't yet met a beautiful one.

"Are we going or not?" she asked pointedly, interrupting his wonderings. "You're thinking, which I find slightly concerning."

_Yeah_, Fiyero thought. _Me too_.


	2. Staring

**A/N: Well, hello again! I had another chapter of this story written and I couldn't resist an update. For those of you who are following, updates on this story (as with my others) will be pretty sporadic, and I might focus more on other projects at times, but I'll do my best to get it finished and not leave you hanging for too long. Sadly, I don't have a talent for long chapters, but I pack a lot into the short ones. I hope that you enjoy! Please review with comments, suggestions, pretty much whatever you want—remember, if you want your voice to be heard, review! They always make my day 3**

Elphaba Thropp, as a rule, paid attention in class. Her assignments soared far above average, and her notes were meticulously ordered. They were never doodled on, which was why she was slightly alarmed to find her quill halfway through drawing a—

Oh, for Oz' sake.

She scowled at it. It could pass for an uncompleted teardrop shape, she supposed. Although, it looked suspiciously like…no. It was most definitely not half of a heart. What business would she have drawing that? Obviously none. She glared at the shape and pointedly drenched it in a blot of ink.

"Are you trying to enact some sort of revenge on your notes?"

Elphaba glared at the source of the voice, who just had to plant himself next to her when his comments were the last thing she needed to hear. She really hoped he hadn't seen the half—well, whatever it was. It could be mistaken for something entirely wrong, after all. Something that was certainly not what she was actually drawing.

"Don't use words like 'enact' if you don't know what they mean," she said crossly.

He furrowed his brow in an obnoxiously attractive way. "Is that not what it means?"

Elphaba stared at her paper as if trying to set it on fire with her gaze—or the heat of her face, more likely. "Do you know what it means?"

He leaned back in his chair, a pose that Elphaba supposed must be appealing to someone. Not her. Obviously. "_Enact: verb. EN-act. The act of—_"

"Congratulations, you memorize words out of the dictionary for fun," Elphaba said drily. "And you say I have strange hobbies."

He shrugged, still somehow managing to balance his chair on two legs. "What if I said I did it to impress you?"

"I would say that a) you're going to fail, and b) you should be focused on impressing your _girlfriend_."

Perhaps she'd put too much stress on the word, but, Elphaba reflected, the emphasis was as much a reminder to her as it was to him.

He sighed. "Awfully thorny today, aren't you?"

"Was—that—a—plant—pun?" Elphaba ground out.

Fiyero drew back in surrender, almost tipping his chair over. "Certainly not. But there are green roses."

"Fascinating," Elphaba said stiffly. "Maybe someday I'll get one from a blind man. But in case you're wondering, Galinda prefers red."

He fell silent. She couldn't decide if she was relieved or disappointed.

As the lecture droned on, the scratching of her quill faded to stillness, and Elphaba's eyes slowly drifted from her notes to her neighbor. Waves of caramel swooped across his forehead, except for a single piece that curled the wrong way. He had a jawline like a statue and a tiny, almost-invisible scar above his lip.

_Away from the lips. Look away from the lips._

His eyes weren't much better (or worse, depending on how one chose to view things); perfectly quirked brows rested above deep pools that swirled with colors she had yet to name. They weren't nearly as empty as she'd once thought, and for all of her sarcastic asides, she could see the vibrant, agile mind that lived behind them.

It was almost cruel, having someone who was more work of art than human in the same school as _her_. She craved that kind of beauty; she hungered to be a masterpiece, something worthy of a museum instead of a freakshow. Maybe that was it—maybe it wasn't him. Maybe her heart so longed for beauty that it latched on to what it could find in others, knowing that beauty was something she could never claim.

Elphaba looked at her hand. It was the same green as always—the same ragged, chewed nails, the same swirling fingerprints, the same long, spindly fingers, the same disgusting, sickly hue. She stabbed her quill into her inkwell so hard that the tip nearly broke off and let a drop of ink fall onto her fingertip.

She watched, satisfied, as the black replaced the green.

She did not look back at Fiyero.


	3. Nerves

**A/N: Hi, guys! I was getting ideas again, so I'm back with another chapter. I think this one's a bit longer than the first two, so I'm hoping you'll enjoy that. Have some fluffy tension (and more descriptions of Elphie, because honestly, why not?)**

"All right, your turn. Fiyero?"

"Truth," Fiyero said lazily.

Galinda lowered her lashes with an anticipatory smirk. Avaric rolled his eyes. "Coward."

"Not necessarily," said Boq, who Fiyero wasn't sure had been invited.

"Biq's right. It could be something juicy," said Galinda with a devilish grin.

"Boq," Boq muttered.

"Yes, quite," Galinda said absently. "All right, Fiyero…what have you dreamed of doing with me?"

Fiyero laughed. "I don't want to give Avaric ideas," he said. He slid his hand around her waist, pulled her to him, and kissed her, parting his lips slightly and teasing with his fingers. He thought he heard Boq make an annoyed noise but decided to ignore it.

"That's your sample," he said teasingly. "I'll tell you the rest later."

Galinda giggled, her cheeks going even rosier beneath the blush she already wore. "I can hardly wait," she said, fluttering her eyelashes coquettishly.

Avaric smirked. "Nice one there, _Fifi. _Well? Is it my turn?"

"Yes," Boq grumbled.

"Sweet," said Avaric. "Truth or dare, munchkin?"

"Er…" Boq's eyes darted between Galinda and Avaric. "Dare. Um...yeah, dare."

Avaric grinned wickedly. "Excellent," he said. "I dare you to…smell Galinda's hair."

Galinda giggled and swung her head to the side, letting her perfectly groomed golden locks hang down. "You're lucky, I just washed it with my new shampoo this morning."

Boq's ears went blotchy scarlet. "I—but—fine," he said.

Galinda daintily extended one perfumed curl. Boq averted his eyes, gave it a quick sniff, and then pulled away as if he'd been struck.

"It's called Strawberry Summer," Galinda trilled. "Do you like it?"

"It's very nice," Boq mumbled. He looked as if he'd developed a rash.

Avaric snorted. "Okay then, Munchkin, Galinda's up. Ask away."

"Truth or dare?" Boq asked, still refusing to look at her.

Galinda smiled sweetly. "Truth."

"Uh...how much did that strawberry stuff cost?"

Fiyero and Avaric groaned.

"That's weak," said Avaric. "Ask her something interesting. Why did we let him play?"

"Shh," said Galinda, although she couldn't hide a small smile. "More than I should really tell you. Well…"

She pulled out her feathery white quill, adjusted its shape, and scratched down a number. Avaric and Boq stared at it, wide eyed.

Fiyero laughed. "I've spent that much on a bottle of—well, I guess it's my turn. Avaric, I'm going with dare."

"Perfect," said Avaric, his eyes gleaming. "We're meeting back up at the Ozdust tonight—I dare you to dance with the artichoke."

Fiyero's stomach flipped.

"Avaric," Galinda said chidingly. "She's my friend now, remember?"

"She's still weird," said Avaric. "But freak or friend, Fifi here has to dance with her. And it's gotta be a slow song."

"Avaric!" Galinda exclaimed.

Fiyero stayed quiet. He wasn't sure why the prospect scared him.

oo0oo

"Um...Elphaba?"

Avaric was giving him a thumbs-up from across the crowd. Fiyero's stomach lurched.

"What?" She looked irritated that Galinda had dragged her along, but Fiyero couldn't help thinking it—she also looked good. _Really _good. And it wasn't Galinda's kind of good either. It was hers, her own style shining through Galinda's handiwork. She was wearing a black dress with an elegant closure in the front and a low waist that displayed her faint curves; the bodice glittered under the lights and the long skirt brushed the floor.

Fiyero swallowed and tried to paste on a charming grin. "May I have this dance?" he asked, bowing and extending his hand.

She stepped back and stared at him. "Are you mocking me?"

He straightened up, perplexed. "Um...no. I'm asking you to dance with me."

"And here I thought you had at least one remaining brain cell," she muttered. "You heard what the next song is, didn't you? I think you've got the wrong girl."

"Galinda's okay with it," Fiyero said. He glanced across the floor at her. It wasn't entirely the truth, but she had agreed to let him do this.

Elphaba narrowed her eyes. "What is this about, anyway? You know I don't dance."

"Well, you do now. Come on, please?" Fiyero didn't realize he'd taken her hand until goosebumps shot up his arm and she stared pointedly at their joined hands. He quickly dropped hers.

"Fine," she sighed, "but for one song. And you had better not be lying about Galinda."

"Don't worry," Fiyero said as he pulled her onto the floor, "I'll teach you."

"I hope so," she muttered.

Fiyero grinned. Keeping a respectful distance between them, he set one hand on her waist and took her free hand in his own. She looked as though she didn't know what to do with the other hand; he laughed and guided it to his shoulder.

"Okay," he said under his breath, "when I step forward, you step back. When I step back, you step forward. When I step to the side, you go the same way. Got it?"

"Sure," she said tersely, her eyes fixed on their feet. Fiyero glanced at their hands again; he couldn't help but enjoy the sight of her brilliant emerald skin against his own.

When the music started, Fiyero began a simple waltz; as a prince, he'd been taught this so young that he could do it in his sleep. He could feel Elphaba's uncertainty in the way her grip on his hand and shoulder grew tighter, but he tried to reassure her by whispering instructions under his breath.

"Back—front—side. There, that's it."

They began to fall into a rhythm, and she allowed herself a small smile.

"Want to try a spin?" Fiyero asked.

The smile was replaced by panic. "No!"

"Great!" he said with a smirk, raising his arm.

"But I said—"

The turn was smooth until the last step; she tripped and landed with her hands against his chest. Fiyero tried not to laugh at the indignation in her expression. Without really thinking about it, instead of resuming their earlier position, he slid both hands around her waist, holding her close.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, suddenly looking flustered.

He smiled. With her this close, he could see the eyeliner that was, no doubt, Galinda's idea. He could see the way the lights overhead danced across her, turning her skin into a shade-dappled forest. He could see every silver fleck that glittered in her eyes like stars.

"I like it better this way," he whispered, his throat suddenly dry.

"Me too." The words were barely there, as if she was afraid to make them real, and yet she slowly slid her hands up and placed them on the sides of his neck. Fiyero could feel them shaking. He couldn't decide if they were cold or warm; every nerve stood on end wherever she touched.

The dance became a simple swaying back and forth; careful steps and slow turns carried them in their own circle while the rest of the world disappeared.

_But what about Galinda? This isn't right. I can't—I should—_

But he could hardly remember what Galinda looked like. All his eyes wanted was to fix on the girl in front of him, to trace and savor every detail under the glow of the dim, swirling lights. He could feel himself drawing closer to her; he tried to stop, but he couldn't convince himself that he really wanted to. And she was trembling, but she wasn't drawing away; she slid her hands higher, letting her fingertips brush his jaw, her eyes darting between his eyes and his lips. She ran her teeth along her own; it was probably a nervous habit, but Fiyero was aching to capture them right then, to feel them—

And then the song stopped.

The other pairs slowly broke apart and drifted off the floor. The spell was broken; she pulled away as if he had shocked her.

"Thanks," she said hurriedly, not meeting his eyes, and all but ran back to her seat.

Fiyero still felt dazed. "My pleasure."


	4. Feelings

**A/N: Time for some angst and Gelphie friendship! You're welcome. There is more Fiyero angst to come in the next chapter, trust me. But for now, enjoy, and please remember to leave a review! They always make my day :)**

"Hey, cabbage, why're you in such a hurry?"

"Green light!"

The boys snickered. Elphaba rolled her eyes. They never stopped to consider that she had heard the same jokes hundreds of times before.

"Get more creative than vegetables, cauliflower," she shot back. Two could play at this game. She was moving again before they had a chance to respond.

Elphaba had developed a habit of striding through the corridors as fast as possible, her bony shoulders hunched and her books clutched close to her chest. The faster she moved, the less likely she was to hear the taunts that rang out just as often as the first day she'd arrived.

"Careful, you might get eaten by a rabbit!"

Well, the method wasn't entirely foolproof.

"Most rabbits are smarter than you are," she snapped. _Keep moving. Eyes straight ahead. _

More annoyingly still, every other student in the school seemed to think the remarks were as funny the twelfth time as the first. She couldn't understand why they never tired of the same jokes. But recently, this had not been her main motivation for avoiding her fellow students' eyes.

No, lately, she had been taking every opportunity to avoid _him. _

"Elphaba! Wait up, I need to talk to—"

"Not now," she ground out, refusing to meet his eyes. If she did, she might fall in, and she wasn't sure that she'd be able to find her way out.

He had said that Galinda was fine with the absurd offer, which Elphaba had doubted to begin with, but her roommate's recent behavior only fueled her suspicions. Galinda, usually optimistic and friendly to the point of annoyance, had distanced herself from Elphaba, for which there was no other obvious cause. This had been going on since their recent trip to the Ozdust. Elphaba was starting to wonder if she was no longer the only green girl in the dormitory—Galinda being so in a very different sense.

He had caught up to her—she could hear his footsteps. Curse those long legs of his. "Go away," she said, tightening her grip on her books.

"But I need to talk to y—"

"I said _go away._" She stopped abruptly and turned to face him. "If you need to talk to Galinda, she isn't here."

"No," he insisted, taking another step forwards. "I need to talk to _you._ Listen, about what happened at the dance, I—"

"It won't happen again," Elphaba said. "You owe both of us that. Now leave me alone."

"But there was something that I—"

"Fiyero. _Please._"

He sighed. "Fine. If that's what you want. But this doesn't end now."

Elphaba watched him leave. His face was burned into her memory in a way she both dreaded and longed to forget. Should he ever catch her at just the right time—or perhaps the wrong one—it would happen again, the way it had under the lights in one unreal moment. Reality would drift just far enough away that she could almost ingore it. The ugly, obvious, glaring truth would dissolve in his eyes, and they would beg her to come closer.  
She would give in for just a second too long.  
And there would be no silence to stop her.

That couldn't happen. She couldn't allow it. Not then, not now, not ever. It was too dangerous to dream.

"Don't wish," she whispered under her breath like a mantra. "Don't start."

She had done enough damage to herself and to others. If she could help it—and she had to—she was not going to do it again.

oo00oo00oo

Elphaba stopped short of walking into the door to the dorm room she shared with Galinda. She gave a half-smile at the sight of its decorations—strings of black and green beads on one side, pearls and pink crystals on the other, notes that she and Galinda had written to each other hanging from them like fragile memories. She shook her head to clear it, then turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

It was unusually quiet; the room, divided by an invisible line (books and clutter on one side, frills and neatness on the other) was almost never so silent. Usually, there would be music playing (they alternated who got to choose) and Galinda humming along. At first, Elphaba thought that the room was empty, until she noticed a pink-clad figure sitting quietly on Galinda's bed.

The green girl dropped her schoolbag on her faded quilt and glanced over her shoulder at her friend. Still nothing.

"You okay?" she asked, straightening up and turning all the way around.

Galinda looked up, her makeup smudged (somehow perfectly) with tears that were still forming in her cornflower-blue eyes. She smiled sadly. "I always am, aren't I?"

Elphaba took two steps awkwardly towards her. "Not now. I can tell."

Galinda wrapped her arms around herself. "I—it's nothing."

"No, it's not," Elphaba replied. "There's something going on with you."

"I really shouldn't—"

"Tell me."

Galinda sighed shakily. "I...I guess I'm not fine. Oh, Elphie, nothing is fine at all!"

Elphaba frowned. "What do you mean? What's wrong?"

Galinda wiped away her tears and sniffed, though her eyes still carried a distinct shine. "You know, don't you? You're smart like that, Elphie."

Elphaba's chest went cold. She tenatively walked over and sat beside her friend, feeling very out of place on the lacy pink quilt. "I'm not that smart," she said, thinking of what she had almost done not so long ago.

Galinda tugged on a loose flaxen lock. "But you can think around your heart," she said tearfully. "You can just...ignore your feelings and move on. Oh, Elphie, I wish I could!"

Elphaba leaned against her friend. "I try," she said. "But that's an important part of you, you know."

Galinda sniffled again. "I've never wished it wasn't before," she confessed. "B-but I do now, more than ever! Oh, I wish I could make it just...go away!"

"But you can't. And that means you can do things I don't even let myself dream of," Elphaba said.

Galinda wiped away a tear and leaned her head on Elphaba's thin shoulder. They sat there in silence for a moment before Galinda said quietly, "You love him, don't you?"

Elphaba froze. She didn't want to lie to her friend, but she wasn't sure what the truth really was. Before she opened her mouth, Galinda said, "You don't have to say anything. I see it when you talk to him. I saw it when you were dancing. And the worst part is, I really can't blame you."

Elphaba's head dropped and her hands tightened around the quilt. "But you should," she said. "I've done everything I can to forget it, to ignore it, but I just…"

"Can't," Galinda finished, turning her beautiful, tear-stained face to her friend. "I know. _I know_."

Elphaba clenched her teeth, rhythmically kicking one heel against the side of the bed. "I made a mistake...that night. I should have never agreed to dance with him. I should've known you wouldn't be fine, like he said…"

Galinda resumed tugging on the strand of hair. "It isn't your fault," she said brokenly. "It's—it's _his._ That wasn't just a dare, at the dance. I know it wasn't. I saw his eyes...I love his eyes. But when he came back, back to me and Avaric, I saw something in them, and...and it wasn't mine."

Elphaba folded her arms across her chest. What felt worse than anything was an awful, putrid shred of _hope_, hope that, if Galinda's words were true, he might feel the same way. That feeling—that hope—made her feel more disgusting than her skin or any words ever had. Elphaba didn't cry. It had been years since she'd been close. But she could feel her eyes stinging as guilt burned her insides like acid.

"I won't let it happen," she said, her voice hoarse. "I'll never speak to him again if that's what it takes. He belongs with you."

"But what if he doesn't?" Galinda whispered, huddling closer to Elphaba. "What if I'm keeping you from being happy? I know you won't be happy if you do that."

"That doesn't matter," Elphaba said. "I can't do him any good anyway. I'm the villian in your fairy tale—everyone knows that."

"But you aren't," Galinda said brokenly. "You're so, so good—just for this. You're everything everyone thinks I am and oh, Elphie, it's not fair!"

"I'll get through it," said Elphaba. She had been through worse than this. "It's like you said—I can get my heart out of the way. Anything is worth protecting yours."

Galinda threw her arms around her taller friend, letting her tears soak the shoulder of Elphaba's jacket. "You're so good," she whispered tearfully. "I wish I was like you."

Elphaba leaned her head against Galinda's softer, blonde one. "Don't."


	5. Secrets

**A/N: Alternate title: Fiyero, You Idiot. Y'all know the drill—read and review!**

Perhaps, Fiyero reflected, it had been a mistake to assume that absolutely nothing could shake the unerring passion of his admirers. His popularity had been the most dependable thing in his life—no matter what, boys would still follow his lead and girls would still swoon when he smiled. He just had to glide through it all, to raise a glass and flash a white-toothed grin, and life was fine. Apparently, there was one thing that could change all of that: Galinda.

Up to this point, it had seemed that the loyalty of Shiz rested on both of them—Fiyero, the school's king, and Galinda, their queen. They were the perfect pair, the only people who could touch each other's social status. The girls followed her as the boys followed him; the girls stared at him just like the boys stared at her. However, at least amongst the most fickle population in the academic world of Oz, there was a hierarchy even still, and Fiyero had committed an unforgivable act that made that quite clear.

Ever since what happened at the Ozdust, his fan club had shrunk like a sweater in the wash. Insist though he might that it was only a dare, that Galinda knew, that she had agreed to it, people took one look at the pain in her cornflower-blue eyes and saw the word _liar_. Even Elphaba—might they have been outcasts together, it could have been bearable! But no. She seemed to have set her mind on the goal of never speaking to him again.

_What happened to 'dancing through life'?_ Fiyero wondered. Before, he would have ridden this like a wave; he would've drifted seamlessly past it, letting it take its course without touching him. Or maybe ignoring his problems only worked when he didn't have any. Thinking was a terribly unpleasant business, and he had been doing too much of it lately. What else was there to do, when nobody talked to him? Lurline forbid he dance with anybody but Galinda, but worse still, it was _Elphaba_? The green girl, the freak? Somehow nobody could laugh that off. They acted as if he was infected just by having touched her.

"I'm getting depressed just looking at you," said Avaric, striding up beside him. He had chosen not to pick a side; he drifted back and forth, talking to Fiyero when he saw him and talking about him whenever he got the chance.

Fiyero rolled his eyes, an act that surprised him. "What now?"

Avaric held up his hands in surrender. "Sweet Lurline, Fiyero, don't snap my head off. What is going on with you?"

"I wasn't—" Fiyero sighed. He stopped walking. "I didn't mean to snap at you. Do you...need something?"

Avaric stopped as well and quirked an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah, to talk to you. Why is this getting you down so much?"

Fiyero shrugged. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're not...I dunno, dancing anymore. You just kind of slump around with that depressed sort of look on your face."

"I do not look…" Fiyero sighed. "I don't _slump_."

"Really?" said Avaric. He mimicked a position that Fiyero really couldn't think of a better name for. "'Cause that's what you look like."

Fiyero flopped down onto a nearby bench. "Well, nobody's talking to me, not even Galinda. I don't get it. She _knew_ it was a dare."

"Yeah, I don't get her either, but that's women for you," said Avaric, in a worldly-wise tone that Fiyero found surprisingly irritating. "I mean, come on, it's the artichoke. How could that be a threat?"

_It's Elphaba, _Fiyero thought, surprising himself yet again. _She could be a threat to any girl, if you took the time to talk to her_. But Avaric was right—Galinda shouldn't have anything to worry about. Shouldn't. But she and Fiyero both knew she did.

Avaric sat down next to Fiyero and slapped him on the back. "Chin up. You've had girl drama before. You'll find another one."

"Not like _her_," Fiyero said.

Avaric scoffed. "Come on. Galinda's your _type._ You know better than anyone that there are plenty like her. Unless you're getting all serious on me?"

Fiyero's mind was slow to catch up. It was comforting to feel stupid again. "Galinda...Oh. Yeah, you're probably right." He gave a somewhat convincing laugh, alarmed at what he had really been thinking.

He would never find another girl like Elphaba, and he knew it.

"Besides, worst case scenario, you drop out—new school, new...wait." Avaric stared at him. "You were talking about Galinda, right?"

Fiyero gave another halfway-convincing laugh. "Of course. Who else here is even in my league?"

Avaric narrowed his eyes. "I dunno. You just sounded…" His eyes widened. "Oh, no. No way. That's crazy. You wouldn't, would you?"

A cold shock spread through Fiyero's chest, but he didn't want to jump to any conclusions. "Wouldn't...what?"

"Galinda said she saw something…" Avaric was staring at him like he had sprouted a second head.

The cold feeling was spreading. _Keep playing dumb_. "Something...when? Be a little more vague, why don't you?"

"At the dance." Avaric's eyes drifted off into space. Fiyero waited patiently as Avaric kicked the gears of his mind, rusty from disuse, into motion. "She said you almost...oh, Lurline, Fiyero, what were you _thinking?_"

"Well, based on my track record, I wasn't," Fiyero said jokingly. "But I still don't know what you're talking about."

"Stop messing with me," said Avaric, suddenly serious. "I might be that stupid, but you're not. Did you almost kiss the green girl when you were dancing?"

Time stopped. Her face flashed in front of Fiyero's eyes—the lights swirling across her beautiful skin, the scared smile that emerged from her rough exterior. He could almost feel her breath against his face.

_Yes. And I wish I'd done it. Say yes!_

"What?" Fiyero scoffed. "Please. It was a _dare_. You know me, Avaric. Do you really think I would even think about that? Ugh."

"Good," Avaric said, looking relieved. "Then Galinda can get over herself, and this will all go back to normal."

Fiyero laughed, but it tasted like bile. "Please, Avaric."

_Stop talking._

"Just dancing with her was awful. I mean, imagine if it was contagious?"

_Shut up, you're ruining everything. _

"I could barely even look at her. Galinda's got nothing to worry about, and neither do you."

_Lies._ He might as well have been spitting poision darts, not words.

Avaric grinned. "Yeah, I shouldn't have worried. But you know me—the outrageous is my speciality."

Fiyero wasn't listening. Something around the corner had caught his eye.

A flash of green, the whip of a black braid.

Fiyero's heart froze and cracked. He was wrong. He was still as shallow and selfish and _stupid_ as he had ever been.


	6. Heartbeat

**Chapter 6: Heartbeat**

**A/N: Yes, in case you're wondering, I'm very clear that I have just set an angst trope into motion. Trust me, there will be more to come! In the meantime, in the immortal words of Ron Weasley, "You're gonna suffer, but you're gonna be happy about it."**

Elphaba liked things to be orderly. She liked them to match, to make sense. She hated the fact that she didn't. Right now, her breath and her pulse and the shaking of her hands were all at different beats, different speeds, discordant and clashing but all too fast. Her heart felt like a hamster on a wheel; she couldn't breathe; she couldn't think.

How could she have been so _stupid_?

She had barely taken a step towards opening up, and it had been too much. She had left her heart bare, something she'd sworn off of years ago. How could she have thought that _he_, of all people, could be different? Someone who had never had a problem in their life, who never stopped to think, never cared about anything, could never care about _her_. Not a freak. Not a monster. She was no better than any of the girls she'd so often scorned; a single charming smile, a dance, and suddenly she was losing herself to the uselessness of dreams.

She was angry—angry at him, angry at the world, angry at herself. She wanted to break something, throw something, make someone _hurt_, but she couldn't. She could feel pressure building in her chest, squeezing her heart, her lungs, threatening to burst free. She couldn't afford to cause that kind of damage, but control was slipping away. Her power would suffocate her if she didn't _do _something. The stone wall against her back was too rough, too cold; her skin felt too hot; everything was _wrong_ and she was _wrong_ and—

A horrible shattering sound rang in her ears. Elphaba threw herself to the floor, covering her head as shard of glass rained down around her. The halls of Shiz rang with screams as every single window within two hundred feet exploded.

Elphaba slowly rose to her knees, her eyes widening with terror, shards of glass sliding from her hair. Her classmates were clambering to their feet—or, at least, most of them. With a jolt of horror, Elphaba noticed several who were struggling even to sit up, and a few girls clutching cuts from the glass.

_What have I done?_

Her eyes flew from wall to wall, searching like a trapped animal for an escape, and then she saw him.

Fiyero.

Not moving.

Elphaba scrambled to her feet and stumbled across the shards of glass, falling back to her knees beside him. She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned over him, her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn't know how to feel anymore, looking into his face. Anger blazed in her chest, but something else, something gentler, something she could not seem to banish, glowed just beneath. She wished she felt nothing—blissful, cold nothing—but it wasn't to be. If only she was as good at ignoring her feelings as Galinda thought.

"Hmm," he groaned, his eyes closed. He had a few concerning scratches, but seemed fine—until Elphaba saw the shard of the glass stuck in his arm.

"Sweet Oz," whispered a voice from behind her. Elphaba jumped to her feet and whirled around, every nerve standing at attention, but it was only Galinda.

"You're okay!" Galinda cried, throwing her arms around her friend. "Oh, Elphie, I was so worried." She pulled away and looked at the hall—the shattered windows and shocked students. "What...happened?"

"I…" Elphaba's throat had gone dry. What always happened when she let herself feel, she thought. A disaster.

Galinda knelt next to Fiyero and stroked his hair away from his forehead. "Does it hurt much?" she asked, soft, caring.

His eyelids fluttered. He could only groan in response.

Elphaba swallowed and stepped back, locking a cage around her heart and burying its key in the depths of her mind. This was the way things were meant to be. Clearly, he saw that. He wouldn't want _her_ to be the first thing he saw when he woke up.

"I could barely even look at her," he'd said. Had he merely been acting, then? Hiding his disgust to mock and humiliate her? Her anger simmered to the surface again.

"I'll go find a teacher...or a healer," Elphaba said, her voice choked and strained, her eyes refusing to fix on Galinda and Fiyero. "The others will probably need—"

"You don't have to go, Elphie," said Galinda, who had pulled Fiyero's head into her lap. His eyes were open but unfocused. "They're already here."

Elphaba caught sight of Madame Morrible first, her massive wig quivering. Elphaba's blood seemed to freeze. Madame Morrible would know at once—she would see the signs of sorcery—Elphaba would be expelled—what would her father do? He hadn't physically harmed her since she was seven, but _this_…

"Elphie," Galinda urged, taking her friend's emerald hand in her own. "It's okay. Oh, Elphie, you're trembling. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Fine," Elphaba said. "I'm fine." But she could barely breathe. Whether it was from the release of her magic, or anger, or fear, or even pain, the world was spinning. Nothing would come into focus. Her breathing was only growing quicker and heavier. Everything needed to slow down, to quiet down, to _stop_, it was _too much_ and—

"M'sorry," Fiyero slurred, slicing through her tangled mess of panic.

"Sorry? For what?" Galinda asked. She turned to Elphaba, her delicate brow knit with confusion. "Elphie?"

Elphaba stared silently past him.

"M'sorry," he repeated, pleading, clearer this time.

Elphaba's eyes darkened. "Sorry isn't good enough," she said coldly.

"Elphie!" Galinda said sharply. She tightened her grip on both Elphaba's hand and Fiyero's. "Elphie, we're _fine. _He hasn't really done anything to hurt me."

"Not you," Elphaba said icily. "He knows exactly what he's done, and he knows it doesn't deserve forgiving."

"S'right," Fiyero mumbled, even his half-speech sounding broken and pained.

"I'm going to speak to the teachers," Elphaba said.

"Elphie…"

"Don't." Elphaba got to her feet and started a long, slow, painful walk down the hall. Her classmates' whispers rose to the hissing of a thousand snakes as their eyes followed the green girl's lonely march. The lone, awkward figure trudging through a battlefield of glass seemed to take hours to reach the professors' silent stare.

"Miss Elphaba." Madame Morrible looked more severe than ever. "What has happened here?"

"I—I don't know." She was wobbling on the edge of a cliff, on the verge of toppling over and falling apart.

"Did you have anything to do with this?"

"I—" she swallowed, but it did nothing to help. "I might have."

"You might have? I'm afraid I don't understand."

Elphaba burned with shame under hundreds of stares. "I did. I...I got...angry."

Madame Morrible pressed her lips together thinly. "Hmm. That is quite drastic, Miss Elphaba. You realize that many of your fellow students have been injured?"

Her voice shook more than she wanted it to. "Yes."

"Have you been putting to practice _any_ of the control I have been teaching you?"

This stung. "I tried! I tried, but it wasn't...enough…" Would she ever be enough for anyone?

"That I see. Well, I suppose we shall decide how to handle you after your classmates have been tended to. In the meantime...stay close. I would like to speak with you. Alone."

"Yes, ma'am." Elphaba said, her voice low and empty. That settled it. She was being sent home. But she couldn't go back.

What did she have left?


	7. Courage

**A/N: Breaking the pattern of alternating perspectives here; I can't really do this chapter through Fiyero's eyes, since he's hurt. Instead, you get to spend some more time with your favorite green girl! Reviews are much appreciated, as always. Keep the feedback coming! **

Elphaba slowly made her way back to Galinda and Fiyero, feeling her classmates' burning stares on her back. After the previous incidents with her uncontrolled magic, not to mention their natural prejudice, she knew she would be the easiest candidate to blame, and for once, they were right. She really didn't want to have to look at Fiyero, to talk to him, to even think about him, but she needed the support of a friend, and Galinda wouldn't leave his side. Then a thought struck her.

_Nessa!_

Another pang of guilt stabbed her chest. How had she not even thought to worry about her own sister through all of this? Was she that selfish? She scanned the hall for any sight of Nessa's seated form, but no. Elphaba spun and ran back to Madame Morrible. She would know.

"Madame," she said, slightly out of breath, "Where's Nessa? Where's my sister?"

"She is waiting outside, Miss Elphaba, but I cannot talk to you now. She was with me at the time of this...unfortunate incident, and I instructed her to wait. You would do well to do the same."

"Thank you," Elphaba said quickly. She made her way to the doors of the hall, past piles of broken glass that were slowly being swept up, and pushed them open, darting into the corridor just outside.

There she was. Nessarose was sitting in her wheelchair as always, unharmed but annoyed, just beneath one of the windows.

"Nessa!" Elphaba ran over and slid to her knees in front of her little sister, taking Nessa's pale hands in her own. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said stiffly. "Elphaba, what happened?"

"There was..." What could she say? "An accident." It wasn't really the truth, but it was as close as she could manage.

Nessa's eyes darkened. She pulled her hands free from her sister's grasp. "Elphaba, what did you do?"

"I…" Elphaba stared helplessly at her. How had she known?

"Did you embarrass us again?" Nessa crossed her arms over her chest.

"No, I just…"

Nessa flicked her shiny dark hair over her shoulder. "It's awful, isn't it? Oh, if you're expelled. Father might die of shame. I hope that makes you happy."

Elphaba drew back, pain written on her face more than she would've liked. "No! Of course not, Nessa. I just wanted to see if you were all right."

Nessa was already rolling towards the doors. She stopped short of them. "Let me see," she said coldly.

"But Madame Morrible said…"

Nessa turned towards her sister. "_Let me see._"

Elphaba, her bony shoulders dropping, pushed open the doors, her eyes fixed on the ground.

"Great Oz, Elphaba." Nessarose stared at her sister. "You _are_ going to be expelled. Will you never stop bringing shame to our family?"

"I didn't—" Elphaba's fists curled and uncurled in the pockets of her jacket. What was there to say?

"You didn't mean to? Well, you _did._" Nessa spun her chair around. "If you don't mind, I'm going back to my room."

"Nessa, wait! I—"

But she was rolling away without another word.

Elphaba sank onto a bench and leaned her head back against the wall. She almost wished she could cry, but after years of refusing to, the tears wouldn't come.

oo00oo00oo

Elphaba had no way to know how long she stayed in the hall, not moving, not speaking, not crying; just breaking, silently, invisibly, cracks forming beneath the surface and growing as the minutes ticked by. She saw people pass. She saw teachers guide or even carry injured students to the infirmary. She saw shattered glass as it was swept from the hall, her reflection glinting in pieces from every knife-like shard. She saw the eyes of passerby, glaring with a new hatred or just sweeping over her as if they couldn't stand to linger. But she didn't see him. Fear began to seep into her veins, thawing the numbness that had formed there and pounding to the rhythm of her heartbeat.

_What if, what if, what if_, said her own voice, echoing inside the vast arena of her skull, making the cracks inside of her grow with each resounding word. _What if they can't save him? What if it's my fault? What if he was telling the truth? What if he wasn't, but he does hate me now? What if he tells Galinda? What if she turns on me too? What if they send me home? What if Father finds out? What if, what if, what if_—

Elphaba felt like she was looking at herself from the outside—still, silent, expressionless as stone, and that horrible, sickly green. Some version of herself was trapped inside this mute, ugly body, breaking and breaking and begging for help, but not even she could listen. She was frozen to the bench, frozen as the world passed by, unable to will herself to move, to speak, to do _something_. The cracks had become canyons, valleys, trenches dug into her soul. How much more could she break before there was nothing left?

Then the doors swung open.

"Miss Elphaba. I would like to speak with you."

Elphaba rose like a puppet. She walked to the door in silence.

Madame Morrible looked more intimidating than Elphaba had ever remembered. She gestured inside, where the only people that remained were teachers, a handful of students, and—them. Fiyero was sitting up, closer to the door now, Galinda kneeling at his side. There was a bandage wrapped around his arm. He looked up as soon as Elphaba walked in, but she didn't allow her eyes to seek him.

"How did this happen?"

Elphaba struggled to find the will to speak. She managed to open her mouth, but didn't know what to say. From this vantage point—from outside of the rubble and chaos in her mind—the events that had led up to this catastrophe seemed petty, ridiculous. Shame wormed its way into the cracks.

"I got angry."

The Headmistress paused and surveyed the damage as if to make a point. "You have been angry before, Miss Elphaba."

Elphaba's shoulders rounded protectively. "And...scared." She was scared now, so scared that the only way to think was to put her fear in a box and hide it in the deepest reaches of her thoughts.

"Ah. You do not strike me as the sort of girl who is afraid easily." Madame Morrible's eyes slid rather pointedly to Galinda before she continued. "It takes powerful magic to cause this kind of damage, Miss Elphaba. I trust that you know that."

"You think I'm lying?" The question was calmer than she thought it would be, curious almost, a strange unaffectedness floating above her panic.

"Not necessarily. However, since I did not personally witness these events, I can only connect facts, Miss Elphaba. And, of course, regardless of its origin, such a disaster must be punishable."

_Punishable_. They were going to send her home. Panic began to seep through her shield of calm. "I...I didn't…"

"Didn't what?"

_Didn't what? Didn't what? _

"I…"

"Miss Elphaba?"

Her eyes stung, but still the tears wouldn't come. "It wasn't...I…"

What? What could she say? What was there to say?

"_Miss Elphaba?_"

"It's my fault."

This came from a new voice, one Elphaba knew all too well. She turned, slowly.

Fiyero was standing up, leaning heavily on the wall, his eyes fixed on her face. There was something in them—something she couldn't hate, no matter how hard she tried—something she couldn't believe was a lie. Not if she stared back.

"And how, precisely," said Madame Morrible, thin-lipped, "could you possibly be to blame for this?"

"I said—" His voice trembled. He cleared his throat. "I caused this mess. She was angry with me, and had a right to be."

"And why in Oz' name," the headmistress inquired sharply, "is that?"

"I was—I lied," he said. His eyes still hadn't left her face. She couldn't avoid them. "I said things about her that I couldn't have meant less, things I never should have said. I—it's my fault. I should've known she would hear it. I shouldn't have—I don't know."

"While that may be," Madame Morrible said, seeming less than moved by this, "the magic still had a source, which was not you."

If the confession hadn't affected her—well, it wasn't meant to. Every word hit the green girl beside her; the silent plea in his eyes was slowly mending the cracks. As much as she didn't want to forgive him, there was a sincerity there that couldn't be manufactured. She knew. She had seen through his act the first time—she had seen that he cared. There was no pretense now.

"Fine," said Fiyero, "but just don't—don't—" He curled and uncurled his fists, his tone earnest, pleading. "It wasn't her fault."

Madame Morrible studied him carefully, then turned her eyes to Elphaba. "I will decide what shall be done with you. _Both _of you. But not now. Miss Upland, please take him to the infirmary."

She nodded to Elphaba. "You are free to go. For now."

Elphaba watched them leave. She was free to go...but where?


	8. Heartbreak

**A/N: Thank you so much for the great reviews, everyone! Thank you all for sticking with me and giving me feedback—I promise that it always makes my day. Oh, and as a side note: I realized that the scene with the Lion cub and Dr. Dillamond leaving should have already happened in this timeline, so I'm going to start referring to Galinda as Glinda now. I will probably go back and change her name in the other chapters where it should be different, but for now please have patience and forgive me. Keep the wonderful feedback coming!**

The world came into focus, two blurry orbs in the dark widening to a full picture, though not an interesting one. White ceiling, white door, white walls. Not a window in sight—and maybe, Fiyero thought ruefully, that was a good thing. He struggled to prop himself up so that he could see more of his surroundings—Blankets. Sheets. Floor. Glinda.

Oh, so she was still here. Fiyero's heart twisted uncomfortably.

"You're awake," she said. It took Fiyero a moment to realize that she was smiling, because her mouth was the only thing doing it. There was no smile in her voice, her manner, her eyes.

He pulled himself up a bit further so that he was more or less sitting upright. "Didn't realize I was asleep," he replied. "But I...guess I was." He experimented with his arm, twisting it, rolling the joints, flexing. That last one hurt. He winced. "Well, I'll have to get creative about showing off for a while." Meant to lighten the mood, it fell flat and shallow.

Glinda didn't seem to be able to force a giggle. Tears shimmered in the corners of her eyes. "I was worried," she said softly. "About you."

Fiyero's mouth twisted into a hook at the corner. "Thanks," he said. What else _could _he say? They both knew more than they wanted to put into words.

"Does it hurt you still?" she asked, doing her best to play the caring girlfriend. Fiyero could tell there was more she wanted to say, but she would have to get to it in her own time.

"Not as much," he said. "Just when I move, sometimes." He would play along if it meant postponing the inevitable.

"That's good. The nurse said you ought to be able to leave soon."

What kind of pantomime was this, trivial nonsense floating above a raging storm of unanswered questions? "Glinda," he said. "You want to say something. I mean, really _say_ something. What is it?"

She sighed, her eyes dancing about the room before she finally allowed them to find him. "I don't know what you mean."

"Glinda," Fiyero said, "Please. You haven't been sitting here just to ask me how I'm feeling."

"You sound like Elphie," she said almost bitterly.

They were both silent for a moment, thinking of the green girl who was at the source of this space between them.

Glinda looked up at him. "Well, I—Fiyero," she said tentatively, "What were you and—and Elphie talking about? That you lied? She said you hurt her. I don't understand."

Fiyero's eyes roamed around the room, unwilling to stop and fix on her. That was a good indication, wasn't it? That his heart was the same? That, try as he might, it could not commit to Glinda or anyone like her? "I...she was right." His hands curled into fists around the sheets. "I was talking to Avaric and—well, you know how things have been lately, everyone taking sides—he asked me about what happened when we were at the Ozdust...and I…"

"What? What did you say?" She was leaning towards him, her delicate body bent in a desperate caress of care, her heart reaching more than her hands. She had never learned to hide her pain—hers was a heart not often bruised. Why did he have to be the first to hurt it?

"I was just going to clarify things for him, and then it just went too far, and she heard it, and—" Fiyero broke off and swore at himself, disregarding his gentler company. He wanted to rip the bandages off and stick that shard of glass back in his arm. He had finally started to think, to feel, only to ruin it all the one time he forgot! He buried his face in his hands, raking his fingers through his hair.

"What—" She sounded afraid to ask, or perhaps afraid of the answer. "What was he asking you?"

Fiyero looked up at her, pain written across his eyes. He didn't want to see it reflected in hers, but what good would another lie do? "I don't want to hurt you," he said plaintively. "I never did."

"About you—you and...Elphie?" She turned her face away, holding herself tightly. "I've known it's true, I've known for ages, I've done my grieving," she said, insisting more to herself than to him. Despite her insistence, the wounds still seemed raw.

"He—I don't know how he knew," Fiyero said, pleading with whoever might be listening. But who could forgive him? He couldn't even forgive himself, he who had once believed that he could do no wrong. He had just been ignoring it.

Glinda shook her head with a pained smile. "I told him," she said. "And Elphie knew...she knew I'd seen it. She said she would never speak to you again if she had to, that she would never—she's so good, she's everything everyone thinks I am, so why should I be happy? Why should I want to? Why can't I just…" She let her face fall, tears trickling down her rosy cheeks. "She loves you," Glinda whispered. "You love her too, don't you?"

_She loves me_. Fiyero didn't know how to feel, hearing it. He wasn't sure he could believe it unless it came from Elphaba herself, and yet he knew the truth. "You should be happy," he said.

"I knew it," Glinda said, not looking at him. Her perfect posture crumpled, as if she was caving in on herself. "You won't say it, but you love her."

"I don't know," Fiyero said. What else could he say? They both knew the truth, but to bring it into the reality of sound would be too much.

Galinda leaned over the bed and cupped his face in her soft hands, tears falling onto his shirt. "Can't you—pretend?" she begged brokenly. "Just—for a little while? For me?"

Fiyero gently lifted her hands from his hace and held them between his own. "I don't want to lie anymore. I can't. Not after all the damage it's caused."

Glinda took her hands back and twisted them tightly around each other. "You've changed," she said softly, standing up. "If only I could."

"Where are you going?"

Glinda swept her hair away from her face, still beautiful, like a broken doll. "There's nothing left to say here," she said with a brave attempt at haughty pride. "I hope you're better soon."

Then the door closed, and she was gone.


	9. Regrets

**A/N: Hello, my lovelies! First of all, thank you SO MUCH for the overwhelming positive response you've been giving me. I appreciate the support more than you could know. Writer though I may be, there just aren't words to express how incredible it is to have people enjoying my work.**

**Now, given current events, there is almost nobody that is not being affected in some way by the global crisis we are currently facing. I want to say that my heart goes out to all of you and that I, as a content creator, will be doing my best to make my tiny corner of the Internet a bit brighter for you all. I plan to use my extra time to finish this story and write new chapters for my other in-progress fics. And, of course, if you have prompts or story ideas, send them my way—I'm always looking for inspiration. We **_**will**_ **come out on the other side of this! Stay safe and stay smart, everybody. **

Elphaba, lost in thought, was brought back to reality by the clicking of Nessa's wheelchair against the stone floor. Nessa's noticeably cold attitude towards her sister had softened slightly, but relations between the two continued to feel strained.

"Elphaba," she said, "he's here." She still avoided the use of 'Fabala', the childhood nickname; but at least they were on speaking terms.

Elphaba barely noticed this, however, for the way every vein seemed to freeze at the message itself. Her sentence from the school had been relatively lenient; she wasn't going to be expelled, but the Headmistress had summoned her father, the governor, to Shiz for a private conference. Elphaba didn't dare to imagine what he might do, lest she be forced to experience its horrors twice.

"Do you—want me to take you to the doors, then?" she asked. Better to get it over with, after all, and perhaps the presence of his darling Nessa would soften Frex's initial reaction.

Nessa twirled a piece of her shining dark hair around one finger—a habit that she seemed to be copying from Glinda in an attempt to look coy. "I suppose," she sighed, "seeing as he'll want to see you anyway."

Elphaba's heart rose. So they were making some progress, then. She took the handles of Nessa's chair and guided it towards the secondary entrance (the main hall was still under repair).

"Have you seen Glinda lately? There's something off about her," Nessa noted, pushing back her Shiz headband so as to better frame her porcelain face. "I think she and Fiyero have split up—nothing official, you know, but he'll likely be released from the infirmary today, so I suppose we'll know by then."

"They—what?" Elphaba had to force herself to keep from stopping in her tracks. Trust Nessa to break their uneasy silence over gossip. But this—how had she not known? Of course, she'd spent the past few days in what was essentially detention, but still...why wouldn't Glinda have told her? Unless…

"Are people...saying why?" she asked tentatively.

"No," said Nessa, resuming her earlier crisp demeanor. "But I don't see why it matters to you."

It mattered more than she was brave enough to tell anyone. Guilt and hope flooded her in equal measure, and she couldn't decide which was worse. Maybe, she told herself, Glinda had been the one to end things—maybe she simply didn't love Fiyero anymore, and she wouldn't be so upset—but she knew the truth; she knew her friend well enough to see that this hope was futile. Glinda, despite the casual relationships she'd seemed to favor, had fallen hard and fast for her prince—and was that so wrong? She'd been raised a princess, after all; she had grown up on stories of the Prince Charming who would sweep her off her feet. Then she found him, only to learn that he had fallen for a witch instead. It wasn't fair to any of them, and yet it wasn't anything they could change.

"Elphaba," Nessarose interrupted pointedly, "Are we going or not?"

Elphaba started and began pushing the chair again. "Yes, right. Just thinking."

"You always are," Nessa sighed. As they rounded the corner, she looked up and her face broke into a smile. "Father!"

Elphaba stepped back and fixed her eyes on the floor, her shoulders rounding instinctively. She could see her father kneel beside Nessa's chair but did not look at his face.

"You're unhurt?" he said. "My rose, are you all right?"

Nessa laughed her bell-like laugh. "Of course, Father," she said. "I was with the Headmistress, and she saw to it that I wasn't harmed."

"As I would expect." The governor got to his feet, the caress evaporating from his voice. "Now. You."

Elphaba dared not lift her gaze. "Hello, Father," she said.

He didn't bother to return the greeting. "Come with me."

Elphaba's shoulders rounded further as she drew into her bony frame. "Yes, Father."

"Please," Nessa said. "Father?"

The governor turned back to his youngest daughter, his tone softening instantly. "Yes, darling?"

She hesitated. Elphaba looked up warily. "Nothing," Nessa said at last. "It's good to see you."

"Of course, my rose," he said. He looked back to Elphaba and gave a silent flick of his hand. For the first time, she saw the expression on his face, and it scared her more than the anger she'd expected to find there. It was empty—emotionless and void. It told her nothing of what she had to prepare herself for.

Mutely, she followed.

They were halfway down the hall before he spoke, still refusing to look at her.

"What have you done?"

Elphaba's skin pricked. "There was an accident," she said. If having a politician for a father had taught her anything, it was how to avoid blame. But she knew he wouldn't fall for it.

"Elphaba." Finally he turned towards her, and yet still his gaze passed just over her head as if the very sight of her might strike him blind. "What did _you_ do?"

"I lost control." The words trembled on the edge of her lips before she forced them into the air on a shaky breath.

"And what happened?" Anyone listening would have taken his tone to be gentle, soothing, coaxing the truth from a panicked child. But she knew better.

Elphaba could feel her heart pulsing relentlessly against her ribcage, her breaths coming short and sharp; what would she say? What could she say? It had been too long for her to remember the sting of his hand against her skin, which he so loathed to touch, but his words—or lack thereof—left a familiar scar, a wound that was re-opened with every fresh rebuke. She looked desperately for a way out, but there was none—not even a window, she thought bitterly.

Then again, she thought, although it didn't stop the shaking of her hands, what did she have to lose?

"I destroyed the main hall," she said, closing her eyes. "I broke all the windows. I hurt students. I shut down school for the day." Her eyes snapped open, and her heart was pounding faster, so loud she could hear it. "They know what I am now. Call me wicked. I've claimed it."

The emptiness was gone from her father's face; now it was hard and blazing with fury. She could see it before it happened—he raised his hand—

And struck air. He flew back against the wall and staggered, falling to his knees.

Elphaba couldn't see it, but she could feel the orb of power that had burst out from her. It surrounded her like the strongest of walls, protecting her from his fury. She could feel the magic, the way it always felt, like a pressure just beneath her skin, but this was power she could control. This was hers. This was strange, different, wicked, but it was hers.

"You—" the governor clambered to his feet, leaning against the wall. "You're not human. You're not mine."

"I was never yours," she said. "And I never should have been."

His eyes were empty again. "I have no business here," he said. "Tell my daughter I love her."

oo000ooo00oo

Elphaba hadn't even seen him leave. Her limbs trembling from the sheer effort of keeping her shield intact, she released it and sank to the floor, her chest heaving in an effort to catch her breath. She put a hand to her face and was surprised to see it shining with tears when she pulled it away. Why now? Now, of all times?

"Elphaba!"

Footsteps, behind her. She didn't even look to register whose they were—she had no strength left.

"Elphaba, are you all right? What happened?"

Warm, strong hands, on her shoulders, caressing the skin she so hated with gentle strokes. She leaned against his chest, her breathing still heavy and uneven. She brushed away another of the tears—they didn't belong, they didn't make sense. Just like her.

"Don't touch me," she gasped. "I'm not—you can't—I'm not good enough, not human enough—"

"Hey," said Fiyero. He turned so that she was facing him and brushed away another stray tear with a gentle stroke of his own. "What's going on? Slow down."

She put one of her shaking hands to the place on his arm where only a scar remained. Her mind kept telling her to push herself away, that she didn't deserve to be touched, but every other instinct ached for her to cling to his comforting strength.

"You're okay," she said.

He glanced down at his arm. "Oh. Yeah, they just let me out. But something's still wrong. Elphaba, what happened?"

"Nothing," she said as brusquely as she could manage. "I'm fine." But she knew he could feel her trembling in his arms.

"You're not," he insisted, searching her face. She finally let herself meet his eyes, and her breath caught in her chest. She had been avoiding the sight of them so long that she'd forgotten—the brilliant, swirling mix of impossible hues, his soul shining through to touch her heart.

"I shouldn't—you shouldn't be here," she said. She tried to command herself to pull away, to walk away, and yet her limbs refused to respond.

"Why?" he said. "Do you still hate me?"

She could only lean closer into him, her heartbeat slowing to a calm in his embrace. They both knew the answer to that. "No," she said. "I can't. You made a stupid mistake—you hurt people—you got hurt—but I know it _was_ a mistake. And maybe this never would've happened if I hadn't…"

"No, Elphaba, no, listen to me," he said, holding her arms. "None of this is your fault. I screwed it all up. _You_ were the one who taught me I could think for myself, and to realize that other people mattered. And then you were the one who suffered for it when I didn't do that. If I had considered this—all of this—just a little more, the way you would have, the way you've done almost too much, from what Glinda says, it could have been so much better."

"You regret it?" she said, looking up into his face, feeling her guilt and fear fade every second her eyes lingered there.

"I do," he said. Then his gaze deepened. "But not all of it."

"Do you—regret what happened at the dance? That you almost kissed me?"

There was something in his expression then, something she had never seen there or anywhere else.

Maybe that was love.

"No," he said. "Only that I didn't."


	10. Racing Hearts

**Chapter 10: Racing Hearts**

**Pre-Note-Note: This chapter will be multi-POV, just because that's the best way for me to tell the events and tie everything up. **

**A/N: Well, here it is...the long-awaited conclusion of what (if you read my A/N for chapter 1) was supposed to be a collection of cute, fluffy one-shots. Oops. I think the greatest irony here is that this story ran away from me and developed a plot, while the others I'm working on that NEED a plot refuse to give me any ideas. I guess that's how writing goes. With that in mind, however, please feel free to send me requests and ideas...can't promise that I'll write them, but I could use the inspiration.  
Also, as Apocalypse 2020 continues, I am with you! I will continue using my free time to create new content, hopefully so that you have something to kill your boredom for a while; I think the most important thing to remember is that we, the storytellers at heart, will have **_**such**_ **a story to tell when this is all over! And it will be, and we'll make it out okay. Remember—stay safe and stay smart. **

**Love, optimism, and Fiyeraba angst, **

**-FairytalesOfForever**

Who do you blame when it's nobody's fault?

That was the question facing the three of them, Elphaba thought; impossible to answer, but impossible to ignore. Hearts had been broken (not to mention windows), but they hadn't chosen it. She had done her best to avoid it. And, yet, there they were.

Glinda spent more time in the dorm these days. Elphaba, more out of respect than anything, avoided it. There was no bitterness between them—no anger, just pain that neither of them could change and neither of them wanted to face. Now, however, class had ended, Elphaba had read more or less everything of interest in the library, and they were there together. She didn't expect a reconciliation, or even a conversation, but couldn't help hoping that their friendship could heal.

It meant more to her than anything. She hadn't seen much of Fiyero; on purpose, in a way. She wasn't sure she was ready to risk the sacrifice of seeing him again. As happy as she was when she was with him, as much as she ached for the strength of his embrace, she didn't want to hurt Glinda any more than she already had. That mattered more.

"Elphaba."

The green girl looked up, surprised to hear her name. It wasn't the nickname of old, but they'd hardly spoken to each other in so long that it didn't matter. "Yes?"

Glinda was sitting up on her bed, hands twisted together in her lap, her eyes downcast. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she raised them to those of her friend. "Well—I've been thinking—for once," she said, smiling a broken smile. "And I shouldn't be holding you back."

Elphaba wanted to get up, to go to her, to comfort her and somehow take away the pain that lived in her eyes, but there wasn't anything she could do to fix it. "What do you mean?"

"I mean—" She took a deep breath. Her eyes glistened. "I mean, I'm not as good as you are, no matter what people think. I never was. I was so awful to you in the beginning, and I know I've probably hurt so many people—"

Elphaba couldn't take it—watching her friend, heartbroken, break herself even further. She ran across the room and sat beside Glinda on her bed. "No," she said. "No, listen, I've forgiven you. I forgave you ages ago. You didn't know."

"But I should have," Glinda insisted, her arms folded tightly around herself. "I should have seen it, how terrible you felt, and it took me too long. Maybe I can't ever make up for it. But I can try."

Tears shimmered at the edges of her eyes. "Elphie, he loves you. And you love him, I can see it. I can't hold on any longer when it's hurting you, again."

"You don't have to make up for anything," Elphaba answered. "Not when it's hurting you like this. I—I'll stay away, I have been."

"No," Glinda insisted, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "You can't. He doesn't love me anymore. Maybe he never did. I don't think I can face it—unless—at least you're happy. If there's a reason, if I can make up at least a little bit for the way I was, then maybe I can move on." The tears were spilling over now—beautiful, diamond tears. Her voice broke to a trembling whisper. "You deserve each other."

Wordlessly, Elphaba enfolded her friend in her arms—and despite being thin and bony, they were surprisingly strong. "If that's what you want," she whispered into Glinda's soft blonde hair. "But please, don't blame yourself. It was _never _your fault."

oo000ooo00oo

"Fiyero!"

He turned around and immediately felt his heart lift. He ran to her. "Elphaba! What is it?"

"I needed to talk to you," she said, looking up at him. He had almost forgotten some of the nuances of her subtle beauty, but now it all came rushing back—every shadow on her face was a work of art in its own right.

"Of course," he said. The hallway was empty; classes had ended a few hours ago, and the few students who were milling about had taken advantage of the weather to be outside. He couldn't help a rush of gratitude that they were alone. "Anything."

"Did you—mean it?" she asked in a rush, her hands flying back and forth as if she didn't know what to do with them. "When you said—about the dance—"

"Every word," he replied, taking her hands in his own. "What I regret, and what I don't."

He could see the blush slowly creeping up her face and wondered if he'd ever seen anything so gorgeous.

"I know I've been avoiding you," she said, her eyes darting away and back again. "I just didn't..."

_Glinda. _Another pang of guilt struck his chest. Fiyero knew well that so much could've been avoided if he had only loved her, and yet if he'd had the choice, he wasn't sure he would have chosen to. This was better, somehow—different, exciting, intoxicating, in a way.

"I know," he said. "You don't have to tell me. I know, and it was probably right. But now…?" He couldn't help a subtle glow of hope; she was so close, her hands in his own, a dream seeping through the holes in reality to touch his heart.

She smiled—a sad smile that made his heart ache. Was he to blame for all the pain? "Glinda talked to me," she said. "She...I think she finally understands, and she really is as good as she thinks she should be. I wish she could see it."

So the last barrier was gone. "Then—" he began, only to be interrupted by a few notes drifting in through the window. They both turned; outside, a girl sat on one of the benches with her friends, playing her flute.

He recognized the song.

The recognition took a moment to dawn in Elphaba's face before she looked up at him incredulously. "Is this…?"

"It is," Fiyero replied, a grin spreading across his face. He stepped back, bowed, and offered her his hand. "May I have this dance?"

She gave a rare, slow smile. "I think you can."

Fiyero took her hand in his own and slid his arm around her waist, drawing her closer than the time before. The sunlight reflected in her eyes, making them shine like panels of stained glass, or diamonds trapped in amber, and his breath caught in his chest.

He started a slow waltz in the familiar pattern; she'd already gotten better, though he still whispered directions to make her smile. With that smile, he hardly needed the sun at all. The dance settled into a gentle rhythm of slow steps and turns, the world shrinking till all it contained was the two of them and a song. It was simple but perfect, just swaying and spinning to the song they'd first danced to. The world had changed so much since, but what lay between them remained. Every gentle turn, it seemed, carried them closer together, until her head nearly rested against his chest, and he cradled her waist in his hands.

"Want to try a spin?" he said quietly, mischief sparking in his expression.

"Why not?" she said in return, her eyes glittering, the fear that had been there once gone.

Fiyero extended his arm, showcasing her in a slow twirl. She spun back into him and he pulled her against his chest, one hand brushing her face. It was all there, every reason he'd fallen in love with this girl—with her beautiful skin, with the night in her hair, the stars in her eyes, and the sun in her smile—and he realized it like a remembrance of something he'd always known.

He raised her face to his, his fingertips brushing her jaw, and whispered, "I love you."

Her eyes went wide; she slid her arms around his neck and met his gaze, nearly trembling with the fervor of her words. "I love you." He could see the fear that was still there, that it was too much, too fast, but they had known. They had both known.

He pulled her in close, and at long last their lips met.

This time, the song played on.


End file.
